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Sweeter Jesus
Pain is your favor, insurrection?
Only a river, told to be tewes?
Of a musical dream, that lived before sin...

Silent skies
With avidity, comes the rain...
Desperation may, fruit or lies
When saviors play the part, they know pain

Salt in the way
Strangers came, to a living love
Simple demands, drama in the speed, stay
A night in the sour mere, that became us

Worth the lucre
With the common, blindness
We decided is a terror
Where fear owes this, less...

Waiting for the walls
To decide, your fate in more
Than the havoc in our halls
When music has a truth, is it at war?
Look hi and love, make beautiful music, and die the death of an eye? (Waiting for the music to come)
I gave her
latitude,
took the higher
road.
Appeasement
never works.
She drank all
my whiskey
and stole my
parakeet.
The Romans bathed
naked in the
Tiber, and she
wins wars with
a smile.
Never mind the
casualties.
Check out my you tube channel where I read from my recent book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2RTVZcWtVM
Your heart breaks.
My Mind was hurt. Tracing the pain
to know the poem's survival.

Nature and rhymes.
I translate the sorrow to flowers,
making a conduit god.

But who was responsible
for infidelity, as you like it to turn the
identity into dharma of consciousness.
The inner critic
protects me from
reality and success;
It knows best.
It reminds me of
my hopeless plight,
my dark destiny,
my night of a
thousand storms.

Councillors say,
"Examine those thoughts.
Challenge them, are
they rational? "
I nod and smile,
and somewhere there
is a sparrow in me
that wants to sing,
that agrees with
the blue skies, and
the trees, and the wings
that have carried it
away from the pain.

But then the critic
and its minions
chatter away, and
remind me of failures,
they say,
"The play has already been written.
You're just doing your part-
your small walk-on part.
You don't get to rewrite it.
It's been written, it's finished.
You being a writer must appreciate
irony, isn't it ironic;
Thomas, no matter
how bad you want it,
you can't have it.
It's been decided, it's predestined,
long before you were born.
You lose, some win, but not you."

I faintly hear the dying song
of the sparrow, as I rise once again
and stumble towards the abyss.
Check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry from my recent book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2RTVZcWtVM
Knife edged, this twisted world
Where men sit on their hands,
Despite the carnage, sanctified
Despite where outrage lands.
Blinkered to the massacre
Oblivious to death
Ukraine and in Gaza
Via Satan's filthy breath,
Carnage bleeds, unsated
Innocents now die
Dismembered in the rubble
Where little children cry.

We in distant nations
Sit remote and quite detached,
Unhindered by the distance
Untouched, unattached.
We wring our hands in anguish 
What more can we do?
This smothered insignificance
A sad defense for you.
Whilst the Ogre in the Kremlin
And the Mullahs in Iran
Dispatch their lethal warfare
Eviscerating man.

Ego and the Caliphate
Combine to force the hand
With nuclear threat to NATO
In the ultimate demand.
China on the sideline,
Poised to hit Taiwan,
Awaiting the confusion
To join the battle song.
Extermination Israel
Taking Saudi's oil rich wells
And a settling of the score
In sending Infidels to Hell.

Here we sit in our seclusion
With a blue sky overhead,
Not a thought that our tomorrows
Possibilities....may be dead?
Not a thought that our inaction
At this point of time entails
The destruction of the order
Here on Earth, that now prevails?
Have you bitten hard the bullet,
Have you clenched your teeth in rage?
Have you stamped your foot in anger
To decide to turn the page?

Have you weighed the dreaded consequence
Of just blithely carrying on....
Or will you gather up your skirts
To Sing Our Planet's Battle Song?

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
9th March 2024
.
 Apr 29 From the ashes
Bardo
I suppose I'll be in a Nursing Home one day
  drooling all over myself
And still plotting revenge on this world for
  having wronged me so,
Or maybe I might just be dozing, probably
  having another nightmare
I might find myself on a train somewhere and the conductor he suddenly
  announces
"Next stop Dementia City
After that it's Alzheimersville"
I'll awake with a start
And then...then I'll see her... this beautiful
  vision just walking in
Elderly like myself but still so ladylike
Still so lithe and graceful
I'll tell my Nurse to quickly get my false teeth
And my good wig
And my walking frame
And to give me a couple of those heart tablets
I'd think to myself "I knew she'd come... one
  day"
It'd be one last chance for Love... one last dash for Love.

So moving slowly but determinedly across
  the floor toward her
I'd probably get a pain midway
And then keel over
She'd not see me, she'd have her back turned
  to me
The Nurses they'd be showing her to her
  room
She'd be walking away
I'd try to call out but the words they'd get all
  garbled and stuck in my throat
I'd try to reach out to her... reach out like
  she's some mirage in the desert
My last gasp... my last gasp for Love
But...too late...
Too late, the Hero.
A bittersweet bit of fun.
Piano notes drift in the
rainy evening,
like sadness from a
clock.
You were the color
in my dreams.
The paint on my
canvas.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgXtR-Z6G9s
Check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry from my recent book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems.
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